Perfect Disease
by Dreaming-Of-A-Nightmare
Summary: Mello cursed himself then, not wanting the disease to plague his thoughts as well. And yet it was; no, IS. Damn that disease. Damn Near! .:.:.:. MelloXNear oneshot. kind of dark. please R&R!


**A/N: **_Just something MelloXNear i did for a friend on DeviantART. I dunno why I wrote it or why I'm posting it on here, but it's interesting enough. Hope you all like it, and if you do please tell me in a review. If you hate it, tell me that, too. _

_Oh yeah, and this is BL as in BOY LOVE, so you no like you no read. _

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He never felt something like this before.

Maybe he had, only in a different way.

But this was contorted and foul, turning the chocolate in his mouth to thick mud. And yet he took another bite, having nothing else to do but feed his sugar addiction.

But oh, it still burned in his stomach, that _feeling_.And it was a feeling only Mello could feel, and a feeling only can be directed at one person: "Near," he growled deep in his throat.

Near was like a disease; a perfectly disease, in which everyone admires how high his scores are, how marble-white his skin is, how intense his gaze is, how delicately his fingers linger on his puzzle pieces. They love it all, and yet never go near the boy. Maybe his aura was too strong for them.

But not for Mello.

His aura was just as strong, and always trying to get stronger. He had to surpass his rival; he had to be on top, be the one who's admired from afar like that, the one everyone else thinks is perfect.

He just **had** to be that way!

And he wouldn't stop until he reached that point.

And yet, unseen by himself, Mello was admired, in his own way. Everyone knew his name, his face, his eyes, his hair, and his grades. They knew him, too, but he never saw passed Near.

Near was like a disease; a disease in which he blocks your vision and fills you with jealousy. Makes you long to be him, or like him, or with him. Or strangling him.

Mello cursed himself then, not wanting the disease to plague his thoughts as well. And yet it was – no, is. Damn that disease. Damn _Near_.

There had to be a way to dispose of this_ feeling_. This feeling of envy and rage, loathing in every possible way, and **longing**. Why longing? It hurt so much to feel the longing along with everything else. Couldn't Mello just _dispose_ of it?

_**There was a way,**_ he suddenly knew. _**I know how to get rid of this 'feeling'….**_

The white-haired boy sat there, reading. His hair shone in the sunlight from the window like freshly fallen snow on a sunny day, and for a moment Mello scowled and shielded his eyes.

"Near," he demanded, not bothering to come any closer than he needed to. His voice came out sounding low and vengeful, and for the smallest fraction of a moment an emotion flashed in Near's black eyes. Surprise? Fear? Confusion? – Could be any of those, maybe something completely else; you never knew these things with Near.

But Mello wanted to know. What made the boy tick? What virus makes up that perfect disease?

"Near," he repeated, leaning down and staring at the other boy. "Come with me, Near."

"Why?" he asks simply.

"Just come; it won't take long," Mello says, beginning to walk away. He knew that Near would follow his black-clothed form; what other choice does he have? **Not any.**

On the way out, Mello threw out the remains of his chocolate bar; it only tasted like mud, anyway.

In the hallway, not a sound crept along the walls or clung to the floorboards, not a body or face seen behind any door. Good, because Mello didn't want any witnesses; you wouldn't, either, if you were trying to dispose of something… littering the world is what it would be, right? Yes, that's right, only litter…

And he was about to litter Near with that _feeling _right now. It's what he deserved, after all; he needs to know what he does to Mello. **What a disease does to the body. **He needs to know.

"Mello, what is all this about?" says the disease, talking like a sturdy marble statue, pale and calm.

Fire scorched the insides of the blonde's stomach once again, and he slammed his fist against the wall next to Near's head. The boy jerks backwards and falls against the wall, staring blindly up at him. Mello doesn't say a word, because you don't need to when there could be ears in the walls.

In one movement bursting with that _feeling_, Mello moves forward and crushes his lips onto Near's, forcing his tongue inside. He slices across the boy's mouth, throwing away the cure to the disease. The perfect cure, in which he tastes what it's like to be the ultimate victor. In which he shoves away that _longing _and _rage_, letting the perfect boy to get dirty, to become less perfect. To soil his unresponsive tongue and throat, to capture the words he never speaks. **The perfect cure for the perfect disease.**

Mello breaks away, leaving a stinging pain in the boy's marble flesh. He walks away, finally rid of his disease.

But in his wake there is a new disease, and Near mentally curses. He wanted to reach up and scratch off that taste, that sordid flavor of loathing and stale milk chocolate. Near wanted to scrape off the unwelcome saliva from his taste buds, to rid himself the 'cure' Mello just handed him. He also wanted so badly to shower right then and there, to wash away this sudden creeping feeling that unfamiliarly coursed through his veins. His heart drummed up in his throat, and made the snowy boy feel not like himself.

Near never knew what a disease would feel like; and yet this one felt _perfect_. It felt right in his system, however wrong it made him. He shook his head, his locks of wavy white hair falling in his eyes and he slipped down against the wall. A quake went down his spine and he spat at the hallway's floor.

"Mello," he whispered, "Mello, what sick thing have you done to me?"


End file.
